In the beginning was the fall-
the split of wood, the sever.
Together, we screamed and covered
our bodies with hair and leaves
and hid from the explosive steps of God.

We are now a puzzle-
the pieces which He chisels and saws.
As a worn out creation, we raise
our hands to protest the pain
and hear the roar,
"This makes you whole".

my husband, my wife

Under the hazel moon, we swirl
into one another- with wonder-
we extend our arms like trees
toward each other's face
and touch the pink lips
of eros.

To dust you shall return.

When I was born, my mother says that I

came out in a sack of water, and that this

is why I have always loved the ocean.

When they bombed Hiroshima, all the

people turned to ash and blew away to

other lands.

When my grampa was eight he tried

to dig a hole to China, but only got halfway

before dinner.

We are all part of the earth, the sacred dirt-

that sticks under our fingernails and to

the knees of our blue jeans. When we die,

we come back as countries that have yet

to be discovered.

salt.

I have a wife made of salt.

We haven't made love

in 35 years-- it would ruin her.

I don't carry a picture of her

in my wallet, I can't stomach the questions.

Instead, I carry a picture of some woman

I got from a store-bought frame. Her

hair is brown. She looks

happy, and real.

My salt woman has tears like the sea--

I let them run down, I let them freeze.

I think she is brave-- my wife...she just looks

and looks and never turns around. Her sin was-

peeking behind her.

Eat me. (sort of a cut-up)

A tranquilizer--
at home, at the office,
in court, under
the tongue. It makes up
for the absence of God,
or your widow's weeds,
or chemistry's uncompassionate sleep.
You really should settle.
You really should take the edge off.
This is your only buyer-- dissolve it,
swallow it, and wash it down--
there is no other devil left.

Trapeze ease. (a cut-up)

In the stillness- hushed,
astonished air- the weight
of the body has failed
to fall. Alone, he lacks wings.
Unfeathered, he crouches;
he plots, he threads himself through
the newborn arms at just this moment.

Merely. (a cut-up)

He wants, he wants,
he wants a teaspoon
of ocean- with his eyes,
with his ears. In a word,
he is filled with freedom
and came to be stars-in his own way-
a crystal's childhood
in the herd.